Peeta and Gale's story: The Hunger Games
by toucantrebleclef
Summary: We've read what Katniss percieves about the Districts, the Games, the Capitol and her life. But what goes on in Peeta and Gale's head? Disclaimer: I do not own any of Suzanne Collins characters. I have named some unnamed OC and given then some personality (e.g. Peeta's brother(s)) Read and Review; my first fanfiction
1. Chapter 1: Bread and Cheese

What if the Hunger Games were in Gale and Peeta's point of view?

What if we saw Katniss through their eyes?

What if every kiss, kill, and breath they saw?

Let the Games begin.

Part One

Peeta

I wake up as the sun's warm rays touch my eyelids. It's so peaceful, in this cot, I could lie here forever. I open my eyes and remember: The day of the reaping. One child of District 12 will be chosen to die today. 11 more in faraway places. One more District 12 death to add to the book. I briefly lie there, thinking of nothing but dead children and the Capitol and how much pain they cause. Then I sit up, brush the thought of death from my mind, and quietly start the day.

I walk quietly toward the kitchen, then I pause for a moment and open my closet. _You might not have time to finish your daily bread before Mother gets up,_ a sensible voice in my head warns. I ignore it and throw open the doors. Digging through the clothes, neatly stacked cookbooks, and junk, I find what I am looking for. Covered in flour and lint, an old maroon leather scrapbook. I remember the day I bought it. All shiny and polished to its spiffiest in the glazed windows of the store. The clerk said it was vintage, imported from both District 7 and 8. Cost a fortune, I had to skip lunch for the next month to make up for it.

Running my hands along the spine, I open it and examine the contents as if seeing them afresh.

The first entry is labeled _Maylie_ , and it is written in my rounded five year old handwriting. A haphazard sketch of her bright face is printed in the top left corner of the ivory paper. Under that, I have written, _Timid, is good with a knife, and would do anything to protect her baby brother._ I remember, she barely made it through the blood bath, then died a day later because an arrow had punctured her stomach, and her stomach acid boiled out and fried her from the inside. I feel so bad, I'm glad I at least made this tribute to her.

I flip through all 24 pages-I've had this for twelve years, two kids for each year- and remember their names. Jascon, who died in the bloodbath of a quick arrow to the heart. Doon, who starved. Aunumn, who got the farthest anyone had- since 20 years before her, when Haymitch won the Quarter Quell- was in the final two. Her ally, from District 11, had shot the third tribute the morning before, and Aunumn was preparing to break the alliance, when she got a knife in the head. My eyes well up for all of them. How I wish I could help them. But I can't. They're dead, and anyway, the Capitol wouldn't allow it.

I toss the book back under the clothes and know I will soon be taking it back out of its dusty pile. Mother might be getting up soon, and I want to bake the morning batch before she can reprimand me.

I walk to the kitchen, pull out a slab of wood, and start throwing together the ingredients for classic bread. I've done this hundreds, if not thousands of times, and it no longer requires thought. I knead, fold and push in a practiced, smooth motion. The continuous slap of the bread hitting the slab clears the thoughts from my mind until the only thing is dough on the wood. I knead until the sun clears the bottom leaf of our scraggly apple tree. Then I add nuts and knead some more. When the sun has inched higher, I split and shape the dough into four loaves, then, pulling the heavy wooden slab off the table with ease, I place it into the rising area.

I hear the creaking of bedsprings, and I wince. Mother is up. I know she means well, but-

"Get UP, you lazy slob, get UP!"

The yelling from the next room finishes my thought. She'll be here in half an hour. I hear my brother Daymen mutter something in response. She has always hated him the most, I don't know why. Maybe because he reminds her of her first husband too much.

I pull a rack of bread -from the previous day- out of the oven. Six perfect, nutty loaves. I turn around with the loaves in my arms. "Oh!" Father has materialized in front of me. He smiles. "Careful. Don't want to lose the day's bread." He is like that, thinking of others and never himself. Not the burn he could have gotten. Just the lack of another's bread.

Father turns to the storefront. "Good morning," I hear him say. "What would you like?" A low, grunty reply reaches my ears. I would know it anywhere. Gale. The ladies man. I don't particularly like him. I back away into the kitchen, busying myself making a new batch of bread. He spends too much time with Katniss. Katniss. I smile slightly just thinking about her. The dough I am kneading sags in my hands. She provides my family food, and has for years. She sings like an angel. She's so self-assured, so pure…

"Peeta. PEETA." My father waves his hand in my face. I snap back to reality.

"Yes?" I say innocently.

"Just...keep your head in the bread." It's a phrase he uses, about focusing on the bakery and not other things. Judging by the tiny smile on Father's face, I think he has a hunch about what was on my mind.

Gale

 _I'm hurtling through the air, swooping over trees and houses, over the Hob, and into Katniss's house. I fly through it, but there's no Katniss. Only Prim and her mother, heads down on the table in grievance. Frantic, I check the woods, the Hob everywhere she could be. Then it's like my strings are cut, and I'm falling, falling out of the sky. The ground rushes toward me as I look for Katniss one more time. Finally I see her! But something is wrong. She is speeding away on a train with the Capitol's emblem. In my head, I hear her voice. "It's the only way Gale….." Her voice fades and the ground rushes up to meet me-_

I wake up drowning in my own sweat, breathing hard like I have run a long distance. Katniss. I need to see her. Even though is Reaping Day, she'll be up. In the woods. I slide off the bed, grab a towel from the floor, and start to brush the cold sweat coating my body. This recurring nightmare plagues me. I don't know why it's here, there's no reason for me to be afraid, she would never leave District 12.

I tread through the silent houses, and into the market. Looking left and right, I find what I am looking for. The baker's. I skid to a stop and casually walk up to the window and open the door. The bell jingles sweetly, oblivious to the darkness of today. The kind faced baker is there, waiting. "Good morning," he says. "What would you like?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a blond haired boy walking away. Peeta Mellark. Ever the popular one. I shift so I don't have to look at him and say, "Some nutty bread, please." I say stiffly. I don't like it in the market, with the uppity residents. I much prefer the Hob, with its laughter and overall friendly imposingness. "You're in luck," says the baker warmly. "We just baked a fresh batch today. I'll have it for you in a moment."

As he walks to the back of the bakery, I lean against the glass counter and inspect the cakes I'll never eat. Prim always admires these. The eloquent designs with some incredible detail. I would be jealous if I cared. But my thing is hunting.

The baker comes back with the nutty loaf. "Two squirrels?" I say. That's his standard. But today he shakes his head. "One today." Instinctively, I know it is because of the reaping. This is very gracious. I pull a squirrel out of my game bag, shot last night, but kept in a cool place. Katniss shot it. You can tell because the arrow hole is right through the eye.

I hand him the squirrel, nod, and depart quickly. Katniss. I need to see her. Feel the ground under my feet. Know that my dream was a dream and nothing more.

The houses blur by me. I'm fast. It's the hunting. I can positively fly when on adrenalin.

And I am definitely on adrenalin.


	2. Chapter 2: Mother & The Woods

Hey! Thanks for the review, I would love constructive feedback. I never even though anyone would read this, much less review. So thanks so much! -toucantrebleclef

Disclaimer- not trying to plagiarize, this is Suzanne Collins work and OC

Chapter Two

Peeta

Although today is the day of the reaping, tomorrow is not. And that is why I have to bake bread for it.

All day I bake, knead and combine ingredients rhythmically. I keep glancing at the clock, because at 11:00, I can stop baking and relax into frosting my cakes. It's such an art, frosting cakes. I love it, the delicate designs and patterns with rich frosting my family never can afford. Only the rich can buy my cakes.

It's funny how I can spend so much time doing this thing, but never have been the customer.

I watch the second hand make almost a full circle before turning back to my bread.

I still have half an hour before cake time. It's time for lunch, anyway, so I finish shaping the dough and put it out to rise. Then I take the risen bread from this morning and put it in the oven.

Our family does not eat meals together. Ever. There is only one day when this happens- when one of us might be gone forever. Today.

I set the table, putting out plates. I walk to the storefront, which needed to be cleaned out anyway, and take the stale loaves from the window. As I do, I glance out the window. Nothing else stirs. No one has to be awake- except us- this early. Even the mice seem to be sleeping in.

Turning away from the peace, I adjust the loaves in my arms. The rough bread against my arms reminds me how stale this bread is, and how poor, but how lucky we are. No. I will not dwell on the bad, this always happens, how can I act ungrateful after what life has given us. Instead I deposit the loaves on the table, and walk down to the musty, old cellar.

"Peeta!" I hear a shout and inwardly cringe, frozen on the third step of the cellar. Mother. She is the perfect example of what the Capitol does to its people. Her best friend, killed in the games. Her beloved, who had married her at a young age, whipped to death for stealing. And even my own father, who doesn't love her as he should. Who loves another woman. Katniss's mother.

I love her too, but I can never have her. Like father like son.

"Yes, Mother?" I call, before the silence gets too long. I know exactly what she is going to say, she says the same thing every year.

"Peeta, the reaping is at 1 o'clock. You need to be ready by twelve!"

I glance at the clock, and receive a jolt. It's 11:56. "Yes, Mother!" I shout again, already running back up the cellar stairs

Gale

 _Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss,_

My thoughts fall into time with my feet. Left, right. Katniss.

I run into the Meadow, my feet sloping downward. I slide to a stop in the damp, dewy mud, and listen for a hum that tells the fence is on with electricity. Nothing. I slide under the wires, and pull myself up. I start to jog the hour and a half trek to our spot.

Looping around trees, my feet guide me to the nearest snare. Then I stop. I'll do it with Katniss. I want to see her as soon as possible.

The rhythm of my steps fall into the background. I breathe the clean air, sans coal and people. The trees give off a piney, homey smell. As I jog, I pull a handful of soft pine from the tree which we first cut last reaping. Katniss taught me that there was food in the woods themselves, not just the inhabitants. I chew the soft wood, and the woods is now not just around me, but inside me. I feel the pine's nutrients seeping into my blood, and jog quicker.

I reach our rock in record time. She's not here yet. But she will be soon. I sit on the rock bench, fiddling with the arrows in my quiver. I have a moment of inspiration, and dig the arrow into the bread, puncturing the hard outer crust, and temporarily filling the air with the aroma of freshly baked bread.

Soon, I hear soft footsteps. Katniss. I straighten, already relieved. I watch as her face clears the edge of the hill. Her pace quickens, and I can tell she is pleased to see me too.

"Hey Catnip," I say. I remember when I gave her that name.

We were in the woods, and she was about to touch my snares. "Careful," I had said. She jumped and spun. "What's your name?" She mumbled something. Catnip? What an odd name. No matter. "Well, Catnip, stealing's punishable by death."

She cleared her throat. "Katniss. And I wasn't stealing. I was just looking. Mine never catch anything." She gestured to her bow. "This is how I get food." My eyes locked on the bow. A bow! A rarity, capable of killing enough food. Based on more skill, and less chance, unlike my snares. "Can I see that?" I had said.

"Just remember, stealing is punishable by death." A smile rose out of me, and I saw amusement in her eyes. I knew that the beginning of an era was coming.

"Look what I shot!" I wave the bread in the air, with the arrow in it. She grins, then laughs. Taking the bread, she pulls out the arrow and deeply inhales. Her face transforms, melting. "Mm, still warm." It's delicious. And such a good deal, too.

As if she can read my mind, Katniss says, "What did you trade for it?" I can see her thoughts written all over her face. She knows it should have been expensive.

I shrug. "Just a squirrel. Think the old man was feeling sentimental this morning. Even wished me luck."

"Well, we all feel a little closer today, don't we?" I don't even bother to snort. The Capitol is such a joke. A deadly one, but a joke. "Prim left us a cheese."

I brighten. Prim's goat, Lady, makes the best cheese all around. The cheese is wrapped in a basil leaf, to keep it fresh as a dewdrop. Just like Prim. This cheese will be perfect with this bread.

"Thank you, Prim. We'll have a real feast." The cheese is richer than anything, except the Capitol. Ugh. The Capitol. The Day of the Reaping is today, it slipped my mind, seeing Katniss.

Suddenly my voice goes up, trilling. "I almost forgot!" I say in the ridiculous voice of Effie Trinket, the Capitol representative for District Twelve. "Happy Hunger Games!" I turn and swiftly pull a blackberry from the bushes around us. "And may the odds-" I toss the berry high, with perfect, practiced accuracy-

"-be _ever_ in your favor!" she trills, sounding equally ridiculous. The berry falls into her mouth, and she snaps it shut.

I pull a knife from my belt and begin slicing the thick, rich bread. I can feel Katniss watching me, and it makes me feel safe. Of course, I can protect myself, but there is something in her gaze.

I love her. I matter to her most, and vice versa. I love her and she loves me. I'm not saying in what way, because I'm still figuring that out myself.

I slide the knife through the cheese, then onto the bread as Katniss plucks berries from the surrounding bushes. The peace of our team, our friendship, envelopes us. There is nothing but the gentle rustling of the bushes and our synced breathing.

I silently hand her a piece of bread, covered in goat cheese and decorated with a basil leaf. We recline in the rock, close. The trees are vibrant, the sky clear, the day quiet, and Katniss by my side. This would be a perfect day if it weren't today.


	3. Chapter 3 Goodbye, Katniss

Chapter Three

Mother tugs the corner of my collared shirt. I survey myself in the mirror. I look clean, spiffy, starched. My hair is combed against my head and looks brighter than usual.

I can see my nervousness in my reflection, and mirrored again in Mother's eyes. Despite everything, she is still my mother, and genuinely cares about me, no matter how far down.

"You'll be fine," she says in a brisk manner. "You've only got your name in eight times." Six in for age, two in for tessera. We don't need it desperately, the way Katniss did on that cold, rainy day, where I did her a favor, where I showed her I loves her, but in rough times, we mix it into the cheap bread. My and Daymen's sacrifices- our names in the ball -for bread for the villagers.

She's right, though. I've got nothing compared to Gale- I saw him only this morning. How many darkly penciled slips read his name? I would guess more than twenty.

So really, I have nothing to worry about. A shadow compared to those in the Seam. The edge of District twelve festers, and suffers the worst among us.

Mother steers me me by the shoulders toward Daymen and Jolian, my other brother. At twenty, he lives separately, but has come for today. He towers over me, clearing six feet with ease. He is very healthy, a rarity among our area, but he makes pies so well you can almost taste the magic in them. With his fianceé, Lylie, glued to his side, who makes banana loaf so well, they occasionally send some to the Capitol. They have become rich enough to be healthy.

Daymen hates him for it, how he gets everything, and Daymen is stuck with the leftovers. I don't complain, because after going through Daymen, about one third of everything must be replaced. Clothing. Baking trays. Schoolbooks. Even the teacher at school are so tired of the Mellarks that they situate me as far as possible from them. Some think I am like Daymen, rebellious and ungrateful, but quietly skilled.

Other think I am like Jolian, perfect and friendly, but boisterous.

I guess I'm a little of both.

The hubub of District echoes around me as we are herded like sheep towards areas marked with our ages. Someone shoves me into seventeen. I stay still and observe the shenanigans around me.

It's such a shame that such a beautiful day is tainted by the reaping. The sky is clear for once, and there are no hideous black clouds rising from the mines. Effie Trinket is on stage, her petrifyingly long nails tapping and glinting in the sun. Her pink hair is blinding, and I can see her face reflected in the glint of the great glass balls, distorted.

The mayor shuffles forward on the stage, and begins in a monotone the treaty of treason, a summary of the dark days. My eyes wander, and find Katniss in the crowd. She is tenderly watching her younger sister. I can see the worry in her eyes. It's Prim's first reaping. She has reason behind it. Everyone loves Prim. She's so innocent, set on helping others. She cares so much for Katniss, really gets into her heart and understands her.

I sometimes wish I was Prim. That innocent, and that close to Katniss. It would be perfect.

Effie Trinket says something in a squealy voice. Then, "Ladies First!" She bends over a glass ball and sticks her talons in. I have sudden impression of a bright pink hawk. She fishes around in the ball, taking her Trinket pulls out a slip, flattens in in her fingers, then opens her mouth to read the name. I cross my fingers hoping it's not Katniss, not Katniss, not Katniss-

And it's not Katniss. It's worse.

In a crisp, businesslike voice which seems much too formal to announce the death of a child _,_ Effie Trinket reads,

"Primrose Everdeen."

My heart stops. Because after watching Katniss for years from afar, I know what she's going to do. Just like she did when she volunteered to sing when shy little Madge would have had to. When she handed her friend Darius's little brother her lunch because he hadn't had one for a week. When she punched that boy in the eye after he vandalized Gale's brother Rory's books, writing a horrible word in dark black pen. All of these acts spontaneous. To help someone she cares about, even it will hurt her later.

And that is why I can do nothing but watch helplessly when Katniss extends her arm with a cry, sweeps poor shaking Prim behind her, and shouts desperately, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" A haze forms on my eyes. I can't see. I'm going to lose her forever today. And I can only stand frozen.

It's true, I only ever watched her from afar, except for that rainy day. But I feel if some small spot in my heart is fading.

Katniss says something, something mumbly which doesn't penetrate the thick haze which has leaked out my eyes and is now permeating the air around my head, filling my ears like water. I see Effie's pink shape clacking in stilettos over to the second glass ball. I'm so dazed I don't even wish for it not to be me.

I guess I should have, because the next name Effie calls is:

"Peeta Mellark."

Some of the haze clears, giving way to shock. I walk forward in a trance. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Daymen. He is swathed in sorrow, but I can see something in his eyes. He will not volunteer like Katniss did. Even on a crucial moment like this, he cannot be as pure as Katniss was. I don't expect it. She's one of a kind.

I can see only surprise on Katniss's face as I climb the stage. It's directed at me. Does she remember me? Does seeing me spark something, even if it's negative?

Either way, it's enough. Recognition is all I can ask for.

Gale

Katniss and I slide silently under the fence. I push my feet against the ground awkwardly, cradling a basket of strawberries. Katniss, ever nimble, is already up. "Come on, Gale!" she says. As she turns, her braid swings and passes close to my nose. Mmm. The woods, cheese, peaches, the smell of _Katniss_ invades my nose. I inhale discreetly. She smells so good.

I stand up and stretch, looking at the world around me, a little dizzy. I grab onto Katniss's shoulder to steady myself. She waits for the world to stop spinning. "Dizzy again! You should really check that with my mother, she'll know what's causing these dizzy spells." I keep having dizzy spells whenever I stand up. Been going on for a while. But what I know that Katniss doesn't is what's causing them. I'm not eating enough food. If she knew, she'd give me hers, and hunt more. I don't want Katniss both exhausted and hungry just to fix a little dizziness.

She jogs up and out of the Meadow. "We need to stop at Mayor Undersee's today because of the strawberries.." I let her words wash over me. The simplicity of them is soothing, like today's just another day. Nope. Death Day, that's what the peacekeeper Darius nicknamed it.

Thinking of Darius makes me think of Darius in the square. Which makes me think of Darius with Katniss, and Darius _flirting_ with Katniss-

My lip begins to curl. To avoid punching something, I quickly tune back into Katniss.

I haven't even noticed, but we're actually in the Hob now. I look up at the literal coal black ceiling. The coal dust always float to the top and makes interesting shapes. I see a banana and a mockingjay in the cloudy coal formations. I look back down at the Hob, still slightly startled at suddenly being here. Guess my feet knew the way too well.

"-we don't have anything for Rooba today, we have to stop at Greasy Sae's instead." She looks over at me. I nod and say, "I'll negotiate this time. Can you trade the blackberries-" I am cut short by Katniss. "- with the head peacekeeper. Yes, I will." She grins at me, and I grin back. We know each other so well we finish eachother's sentences. "Meet you at the tree by Mayor Undersee's." she says, and turning away from me, threads her way through the crowd, blackberries swinging.

I briefly watch her, then disappear in my silent way toward Greasy Sae's.

I sit in the shade of the mayor's tree, twisting my game bag in my hands. Behind me, I hear the crunch of dry dirt being compressed by feet. I don't even turn around to know who it is. I'd know that quick, sure walk anywhere. I get up, pulling the strawberries out of the bag. We walk silently to the Mayor's back door, and I put my arm out and rap hard, three times.

Dainty, light steps move toward the door. Madge, the mayor's daughter, opens the door. Immediately, my face becomes closed off. Madge and I have an extensive backstory. It goes like this:

Madge is a year below me in school. She always looked up to me, and I secretly thought she was pretty. And smart. And not a girly idiot.

So then one day, she asks me, "Hey, can I talk to you?" I agreed, and she led me out of the school, all the way to the slag heaps. Then she takes a deep breath.

"Gale Hawthorne, I think you are smart, strong, and too good. I really, really like you." Then she looked up at me with eyes brighter than the moon. No one could resist eyes like that. I did the most logical thing at the time. I leaned towards her. Touch her face gently. Then, suddenly, and not too softly, I kissed her. She kissed me back, and she tasted like caramel and rose-gold sunsets.

I won't lie. I am a good kisser. Everyone says it, and I know it. Time speeds my when people kiss me, and this is exactly what happens.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, and I realized we both have missed every class. It's not like the teachers will have noticed, and plus, I didn't care. Standing in the golden sun. Surrounded in a bubble of bliss.

And then two terrible things happened at the same time. First, Madge tried to take it to the next level. I never thought she was that kind of girl, but apparently, she was; she moved her hands up my shirt and around my waist. I was doing this for her, not for me. For me it was a reprieve on the rebounding pain of my father's death, because today was what he called 'spring day', when everything burst into bloom. His favorite day of the year. And kissing Madge was like it had all vanished for a second. That was the only reason I was doing this. That, and to make her happy.

Second, Prim was walking her goat right past the slag heaps. And she saw us. And let out an 'oh!' I pushed Madge away, and all I could see was the hurt in her eyes. "I'll explain later," I said, then ran to Prim. She opened her mouth. I shushed her.

"Look, Prim. What you saw was not what you thought. It was her, not me. I never wanted this." I paused for air. "But Prim, no matter what happens, you must never tell Katniss what you saw. I just couldn' bear it…" I had ran my hands through my hair. Then abruptly, "Bye, Prim."

I ran. I left the shocked girl, only eleven, holding a goat, standing by a huge stinking slag heap...

This all flashes through my mind as Madge's eyes connect with mine. She quickly moves them away, but I see the hurt there. Because I never kept my promise. I never explained. And I can imagine what she thought.

As she looks at Katniss, I study her outfit. A pretty white dress, adorned with a pink ribbon in her hair. Simple, but expensive. Except for the solid gold mockingjay pin on her ribbon. That is an heirloom.

"Pretty dress," I say dryly. She shoots me a look. Am I playing with her? Or do I truly mean it?

Madge smiles, with a shade too much warmth and hope to be just for the compliment.

"Well, if I go to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?" She smiles again.

I'm confused. And angry, for bringing that up. She has nothing. _Nothing_ in that ball, compared to my, what, forty-two slips?

"You won't be going to the Capitol," I say smoothly, watching her mockingjay pin glint.

"What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old." I'm angry, and she senses it. Katniss can feel it too.

"That's not her fault," says Katniss.

"No," I say, still seething, "it's not. It's no one's fault. Just the way it is."

A square of satisfactions blooms inside me at Madge's closed off expression. She gives Katniss the money, mutters something to her, then closes the door.

I don't care anymore.

I push through the crowd of eighteen year olds, trying to find a space to see my little brother. Rory is nowhere to be seen, and he needs support on his first reaping. I'm tall, but this crowd is too dense and I can't make out Rory. Suddenly I see a flash of red. Rory is wearing a red reaping shirt, but most of the crowd is wearing grey and blue. I push over a teenager, done with being polite. "Rory!" I call. "You'll be fine!" He turns and gives me a quavery smile, relieved someone's on his side. I smile back, sated now that he's alright.

Someone on the stage clears their throat. Adjusts the mike. I turn towards them, as does the rest of District Twelve. Mayor Undersee begins to speak the dull Treaty of Treason, which I am almost positive no one listens to. That stupid, artificial, abomination of a person Effie Trinket glints in the sunlight like plastic, waiting impatiently for the Mayor to finish so she can kill a child.

I look through the crowd at my mother, Hazelle. She's watching Katniss tenderly. She's always been a second mother to Katniss, and I expect that through thick and thin, she'll be with Katniss. But the way she's staring at Katniss, it's like she'll never see her again.

She must be having the nightmares I'm having.

But wait, Effie Trinket is rubbing her hands together, as if warming them up. She's about to pick a name. Then, in an overly cheery voice, she says, "Ladies first!" Then her talons reach into the giant glass ball. She pulls a name. Clearing her throat, she says, "Primrose Everdeen!" She looks up eagerly, like everything is fine and the world had not ended.

Prim. PRIM. Why? One slip out of thousands, only one, and she was chosen? How could they? I feel like I am losing a sister, and in a way, I am.

Then I see Katniss reach out. Towards Prim, pulling her back. What? Prim stumbles, and Katniss opens her mouth-

And everything clicks.

"I volunteer as tribute!" she gasps. The crowd gasps with her. A tribute hasn't been seen in years. So long, in fact, the protocol is rusty. No! But Katniss..She can't! I don't cry, as a rule, I don't. But now, I think I might.

"NO!" Prim screams. "Katniss, don't!" She anchors on to Katniss's leg.

"Prim, let go," Katniss says harshly. I step in and pull Prim off her, who is moaning, kicking. "No Katniss!" She wails, so quietly Katniss probably won't hear.

"Up you go, Catnip," I say. Is this the last time I will ever call her that? Can't she stay?

Now I am truly in danger of crying. Katniss climbs the steps, as Effie says some stupid shit about "not wanting her to have all the glory.", ending with a stupid-ass giggle. I HATE the Capitol, they wrench our families apart, starve us, kill us for entertainment, then LAUGH about it?

I wish I could do something.


	4. Chapter 4: Snot and Rust

Hey guys! This week is a minimum week in school, so probably I'll write one or two more chapters by this time next week. This chapter is also the last stable ground I have on Gale. I mean, after this there's nothing in the book about Gale, obviously. So y'all can leave reviews for what you want to happen to him.

Also, the chapter for Gale is alot longer than Peeta's, not sure how that happened. One more thing: I did a better job editing today, (sorry, but I HATE editing) so hopefully this will be a little better quality. Ok! Read!

toucantrebleclef

Chapter Four

Peeta

I sit in the Justice Building, absentmindedly stroking the soft velvet couch. I feel, rather than hear, footsteps outside the door. It's Daymen and Jolian. I know that this is an important thing because Jolian's fianceé is nowhere in sight.

Daymen sits on the couch, and Jolian on the other side. It's a Mellark sandwich.

Jolian speaks first.

"Look Peeta. We all know you don't have a sporting chance in these games. You can't kill, you just can't." He's always been blunt.

Daymen clears his throat. "So that's why we're saying our good-byes now. You've been a good brother. I wish I could think of something more- poetic - to say, but you know that's never been me." He tries to smile, but his face crumples slightly, and he turns away.

"How about, 'May the odds be ever your favor,' little brother," say Jolian gently.

I nod, head down. Unlike them, I'm not tough, at Jolian says. A tear escapes my eye and splashes my reaping pants. Daymen has the grace not to snort.

I'll never see them again. That's for sure. And though they can be jerks, they've always had my back, always supported my decisions and stood up to Mother with me.

Daymen says, so quietly I think I misheard it, "Peeta, I love you." He's never, not ever said this to me. This sends me over the edge. My tears fall freely, my pants a salty puddle. I make a choking noise and my shoulders start to shake.

I feel a hand on my back. "Goodbye, Peeta." Jolian says. They get up. I look up. They can't go yet! They're all I have! "Wait! I- Just- Thank you," I choke. They turn. "For what? says Jolian. I sniffle pitifully. "Everything. For being my brothers. For this."

"Well, we can't help that," joke Daymen. I grin waterly. "Bye D, Bye J," I say. I haven't called them this since I can't even remember when. "Bye P," they chorus. We smile, and they depart, closing the door softly.

I compose myself, wiping my nose on the tassel of the couch. That, I think, is for putting me in the Games. It's not a fair trade, snot on a couch for death, but hopefully it will merit at least an annoyance.

My father comes in. He is blunt. "Peeta. I hate goodbyes, especially long ones, and you know that better than anyone." I nod, gesturing for him to continue. He takes a breath. "So here it is, plain and simple: I love you. I always will, even when you're gone. And I planned to say this far, far in the future, but you're my favorite son. I know I'm not supposed to play favorites, but too bad. Goodbye, Peeta." It's the most words I've ever heard him speak. He's generally a man of few words. He presses his fingers against his lips, then out to me.

"Goodbye Father," I whisper. He kisses me on the head, pats my shoulder, looking at me hard for a moment, like he's memorizing my face. Then he turns and leaves.

Lastly, Mother comes in. I am shocked. It must show on my face, because she says, slightly offended, " You _are_ my son, Peeta." She is exquisitely calm. Not sitting down, she wanders the room. "I'd say I love you, and all that, but you know it. So here." She opens her hand, gestures for me to do the same, and drops something into my hand.

Before I can see what it is, she says, "District Twelve might have a chance this year." My heart leaps, does she mean it?! "She's a survivor, that one." My shining bubble bursts. Of course. How did I expect more?

"Goodbye, Peeta. And," she says solemnly, "may the odds be ever in your favor."

She strides to the door. Before she can escape, I call, "I thank you for your part in my journey." It's cheesy, but I had to say something. She nods, not turning, and I think I see her brush a tear.

I open my hand. It's a round, embellished box with a string on it. I find nothing about it special, then shake it, frustrated. Suddenly, there is a click, and the lid swings open. I peer inside. It's compass. I forgot about this. It was given to Mother by her first husband. This is a precious gift. Only can be opened by turning left, then right. She valued it.

I guess this is her way of moving on.

Suddenly Capitol attendants poke me in the back. I quickly close the compass and let it drop around my neck. They pull me soundlessly to a car. I've never been in one. Strange.

Before I know it, we're at the station. I see Katniss, far away. Oddly enough, she seems as if she hasn't cried. At all. I know she's not heartless, but in some ways, this offends me.

Then I'm being shoved on a train. Everything in moving so fast, it's like someone turned up a speed dial on my life. The train is shiny and orange, and I trip on the stairs. I'm dragged to a room resembling a living room. Someone mutters instruction on how to get to my quarters. I nod unfeelingly, just wanting to be left alone.

Soon the room is quiet. I stand up, and walk, zombie like to my quarters. Opening the door, I don't even marvel at the embellished room. The exhaustion of the say is rushing in me faster than this train. I don't even make it to the bed before I collapse.

Gale

The Capitol's anthem is thudding in my ears. I can't even think, I'm so worked up. As soon as the Anthem ends, they drag Katniss off to the Justice building, which is a mini, undersophisticated Capitol in itself. I sprint behind them, but the doors close. I don't even notice Prim on my heels until she crashes into me. I turn. Instead of a crumpling figure, there is a red-faced, blip of rage in the universe.

"How could you?" she screams. I've never seen her so angry. "You sent Katniss- You- How-" Prim sputters. She can't even get control of her anger, and neither can I. Every word is like a knife in the back. I can't rein myself in.

"I KNOW, PRIM!" I explode. Prim shrinks into herself. I feel terrible. But I'm in a roll, I physically can't stop now.

"You don't think I _know_ that? You don't think that's eating me alive right now? IT IS! But I know, Prim, I know she has a better chance of winning. She can protect herself, sustain. You can't, you'd die in a minute. That's why I helped her."

Prim is a ball, curled up. "I'm so sorry- wasn't your fault- I-I-" She bursts into tears and runs into the Justice Building, which is now open for visitors. I feel terrible, innocent Prim didn't mean anything by it. I follow her. "Prim-PRIM!" I yell. No response. I duck into the Justice Building, to see Katniss and Prim.

The room is tall, and vaulted. Covered in velvet and gilded to perfection. I look back down. There's a short line in the exuberant room, waiting to visit Katniss and the other victor, Peeta. I can't believe I just saw him this morning. And now his fate is intertwined with Katniss's. Unsettled by this, I shake off the feeling.

Minutes tick by. I know that Katniss's time must be limited, so I fidget with one of the tassels on a giant curtain. Finally, a Capitol attendant beckons me into the room where Katniss must lie. I surge forward, sweeping past her impassive face.

Katniss sits on a velvet couch, stroking the fabric. She's not crying, but she looks so petite, so vulnerable. Exactly like Prim did ten minutes ago. Curled in on herself. Scared, but trying not be.

She turns and sees me standing there. I open my arms and she walks into me with a hug. Enveloping her in my warmth, I sniff her. She smells so good. But time is ticking, so I must start. I speak into her hair.

"Listen, getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you've got to get your hands on a bow. That's your best chance." We both know how Katniss is with bows. She has more than just skill, she has a gift. What she can do with that bow has saved both our lives multiple time and kept our families sustained for years. It's like magic. There's no modesty, no beating around the bush.

"They don't always have bows," she says thoughtfully, pulling away. I feel a whoosh of cool air hit me in the spot where she was.

"Then make one," I say. "Even a weak bow is better than no bow at all." It's hard though, making a bow. I tried a couple times, after that first day I met her. She wouldn't let me lend hers, and I didn't have the nerve or the arrogance to ask. So I tried to make one. I worked for days, failing again and again. Eventually I succeeded in making a weak, flimsy bow, but it snapped when I tried to shoot something far away.

"I don't even know if there'll be wood," says Katniss, pacing. There's no way to make a bow without wood.

"There's almost always some wood," I remind. "Since the year half of them died of cold. Not much entertainment in that." It's all a game to them, anyway, and one watching kids freeze makes them want roll the dice again, hope they have more luck and fun this time. So now there's usually wood, to make fires and torches.

"Yes, there's usually some," she agrees, sounding hopeful.

Then I think of something. "Katniss, it's just hunting. You're the best hunter I know," I say. I'm not flattering her, it's true.

"It's not just hunting. They're armed, they think," She's now fiddling with her hair.

I speak the grim truth. "How different can it be, really?

There's a silence. I realize that while she does have a very good chance, her being an archer, and knowing how to handle knives, she might not make it back. It's something my mind has rejected until now. With it comes supreme clarity- I realize something else. I don't just love her, I'm _in_ love with her. Things come crashing down. When the boys at school smiled at her, how much I tried not to be jealous. When Darius was flirting with her, and I was pissed at him. Things make sense now, my emotions are in line. I have to tell her how I feel. In case I never see her again. I can't think the word 'dead', it's too weighty, too real. So I sum up my courage, and open my mouth to tell her.

But then the Capitol peacekeeper comes bursting in, like Katniss will miss the Games if she's late, and tells me it's time to leave. What? No! I still need to tell her I love her. "Just one more m-" The Peacekeeper grabs me by the shoulder and attempts to haul me away. I push her off, but I have only moments.

Katniss's eyes go frantic. "Don't let them starve!" she yells. I'm desperate to convey my love. "I won't! Katniss, remember I-" and then they pull is apart and slam the doors, and she might never know what I was trying to say.

The Peacekeeper shoves me outside, into a small alleyway, and punches me in the face. I've almost never seen them act so unprofessional, but this is surely for the pushing and disrespect.

Blood spurts from my nose and mouth and trickles down my skin. I knee him in the groin, and he buckles, groaning. Rage overtakes me, for taking Katniss from me. I repeatedly punch him in the stomach. He's not untrained though. Flipping over, he takes aim for an uppercut at my chin. I pull his arm with the force he gave, something I saw my father do before he died. The peacekeeper flies through the air, the, hits the Justice building, staining it red. He crumples, clearly out.

I stem the blood from my nose with my sleeve, and jog from the scene before someone finds me. My feet guide me home.

This is ridiculous. The Capitol is in power, but without the Districts, without their Games and nukes and death threats, they'd be weaker than the man I left in the alley. We provide them food, luxury, and entertainment. If we started a rebellion, we could bring it down.

But I can't start a rebellion without Katniss. And it's clear that no one else is going to. They've had seventy-four years to, and nothing. Maybe Katniss will take advantage of her spotlight, and try to start one. It's too much to hope that she'll do it, not worth building a life on.

I reach my house and duck behind it. In the dirty backyard, if you could even call it that, is a rusted hose. I turn it on. It squeaks horribly, gurgles, then spits out rust colored water. I let it run until the water is clear, then I methodically rinse my face.

The dirt becomes a soup as the darkly tainted water washes into the ground. My emotions go where the water does, into the ground, curdling. I am as stiff and emotionless as a wall

I turn the water off, and stand up, sparking clean and dripping. I shake like a dog as I walk around to the front door. I let myself in and go straight to my room. Well, it's not my room. I share it with Rory and Vick. I do have my own bed, though. Rory and Vick sleep together. Little Posy used to sleep with my mother after birth, but then after she turned one, and graduated out of my mother's bed into mine, she went back to her. I've never told anyone except Katniss this, but that really offended me.

I curl up in a ball on the rough canvas of the mattress and fall asleep.


	5. Chapter 5: Vomit and Chives

Hey guys! This chapter is really really long, almost 4.5k words. Longest one yet by a long shot. Sorry it took so long to write, I just could'nt think of anything for Gale for a while. I wrote Peeta's chapter in one day though.

Also- things you should know. First, I'm a terrible speller, and toward the end of Peeta my autocorrect broke :(. It should be mostly good, but their'll be a few things. (Props to anyone who can spell the animal Katniss hunts, she trades it for bread (it eats acorns, long fluffy tail), right in the reviews first time). Please tell me how long y'all want this to be. End of The Hunger Games, or Mockingjay? I havent seen the movies, only read the books, so a few things might be different. We should get to the games in the next chapter, or the chapter after next more realistically.

Okie Dokie, reading time!

-toucantrebleclef

* * *

Chapter Five

Peeta

The gentle rocking of the train lulls me awake. Without opening my eyes, I think of what a chaotic day it's going to be. I open my eyes, and check the clock. Oh. I've only slept for ten minutes. Well, I feel as refreshed as if I'd had a full night's sleep.

Swinging my legs up, I feel where my compass, which I slept in, made an indent in my chest. I pull off my shirt and look down at the imprint. It's almost half an inch deep. I frown and probe the patterns my compressed skin has made. Pain bounds from my finger intensely. I howl into the inwardly, it's worse than an oven burn. The metal must have pressed really hard. Ugh, from what I know about injuries, this will leave in a couple hours. I might have a small scar, because of how deep it is.

But despite the pain, I kind of like it. It's proof on my skin my family is with me, cares about me.

Padding softly across the floors, I can now take in the lavish room. It's huge, bigger than the bakery and my house combined. There's a low table, big enough to seat five.

There's a strange panel on the end of it, presumably for ordering food. I turn as I take it all in. Then there's an enormous blue couch, nearly twice the length of me, and the bed where I was sleeping. There's so much more in the room, a shower, what looks like a small storefront directly in the room, huge drawers and a closet, tapestries.

I can't even take it all in. So I head the shower.

I've never had a shower before. It feels like the tap we use for cleaning the bread boards, only on a much larger scale, and all over my body. It's refreshing. And instead of shivering in freezing water, it's pleasantly warm. There's a panel on the side of the shower, too, but I dare not touch it until I have more time to experiment. When I get out, I don't have to be cold, because a hole opens up in the ceiling and blows warm air all over me. I walk bare naked into the center of the room. Examining my discarded clothes from home, I find a match which looks exactly like the, but it more comfortable. I want to show the Capitol that they can't change Peeta from District Twelve.

I wander around the train, trying to find a dining car. Eventually I see Effie's pink bob, and I rush behind her. "Effie!" I call. She turns, genuine concern etching her overdramatic face. "Where's the dining car?" She brightens, clearly happy to help. Oh, these Capitol people with their ridiculous faces. Trying so hard to be helpful, but so deadly. Like a poisoned lollipop.

"Oh! I'm just headed there now, come along." She weaves through the train, and I know that I'm never going to be able to find my way back. After about three minutes, we reach a large green car, with high tables, and dishes which reinforce the meaning of delicate. "Sit, sit," Effie trills. "I'll fetch Katniss, just you wait."

The idea of Katniss actually talking to me, the idea of us becoming friends or more, has my stomach in a swirl. I tap my fingernails against the dishes and wait for Katniss and Effie. Haymitch should be here too, but he's taking a nap. I saw when I was looking for the car. Passed out on the floor, alcohol bottles surrounding him.

It's disgusting.

Effie soon emerges from the yellow door which I came in from, toting Katniss. "Where's Haymitch?

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," I say. Well, sort of.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day," Effie says happily. Probably because she is sick of him at the moment. He's usually drunk, and not nice to be around, so honestly, who can blame her?

Dinner starts. It's the most exquisite thing I've ever tasted, with silky smooth carrot soup, salad, mashed potatoes, lamb chops, a cheese and fruit plate, and chocolate cake for dessert. I want to see how different the cake is here, from mine.

It's so good I forget about the Games, about Katniss, about everything. All I know is that the food in front of me is perfect, and it's so rich, I've never had this much to eat in my life.

As I finish my mashed potatoes, Effie makes quite possibly the rudest comment directly to District Twelve. "At least, you two have decent manners," I put down my fork. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion." Katniss's fork clatters to the floor. We stare at her, and she just keeps eating, oblivious.

'The pair last year' had every right to eat the way they did. They had not a chance of winning the Games, and they both knew it. So they took advantage of the food. They never had had more than a couple bites per meal at home. This is despicable, what she says, because it's her city's fault which made our districts so poor and hungry. So really, she only has herself to blame.

Katniss drops her spoon and knife on the floor to join the fork, and eats the rest of her meal with her hands. Effie purses her lips, getting the message. See, this is what I mean about Katniss. She does things that might hurt her later to get justice for the ones she loves. I consider doing the same, but that would make Effie more upset, and we need at least one person on our side.

The meal ends, and the stuff was so rich I'm fighting to keep it down. Katniss looks like she's about to throw up all over the table, which, to be honest, would be worth doing just to see the look on Effie's face. But when money and yeast was low, I've eaten raw flour, as a meal. I kept that down (well, not the first time,) so I can keep this down.

We weave back through the train, to a compartment near my quarters, to watch the reapings from other districts. I try to watch the other ones, but between the bakery and our own reaping, I can really only watch District 5 and District 9. But today there's a recap, which does not air until before work is done. I once snuck out to watch it. They recap the districts in order of district number, and I watched up to District 8 before they found me, crouched in front of our old television, Mother beat me for that.

We watch Districts 1 through 11 tick by. There's perhaps- five of twenty-two- that wouldn't kill me if they tried. Really, I'm screwed.

I realize this is the first year I won't be able to scrapbook. Even if I did, it would feel wrong to scrapbook myself. I make up mind when watching the recap- I will send a list of names to Daymen, of all 24 of this year's children, along with where to find my scrapbook. Then I really think about it. No. The Capitol would never let me do that. Maybe I can fling a package into the crowd and hope that some mailman catches it.

I see myself walk onstage on TV. In the background, I notice Father crumpling, as his favorite son walks to death. Like the world is ending, and nothing will ever be the same. Maybe it won't. But it seems like everything _will_ stay the same, as I watch myself being dragged into the Justice building, voluntarily. I'm not fighting. Just like any other of the 24 tributes, I let myself be dragged.

The Districts- and almost everyone in them- are pitiful.

We watch the reapings come to an end, finishing with Haymitch falling off the stage, drunk as hell. Effie turns her nose up at him. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation," she sniffs, "and about televised behavior." This is ridiculous. Kids are about to be dying, and she's worrying about _televised behavior?_

It might be the stress of the day, or it might be Effie's obliviousness. Whatever it is, I laugh. Katniss smirks at me, and I elaborate. "He was drunk," I say. "He's drunk every year." Her smirk widening, she adds, "Every day," I don't blame her, Effie sounds ridiculous. But then things take a turn. "Yes," Effie seethes. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these games." Her voice is getting higher and higher. If Daymen were here, he'd lean over and whisper, ' _The Trinket chart. The higher the frustration at the tributes, the faster the vocal chords vibrate,'_

Effie continues. "The one who advises you, limes up your sponsors, and dictates the permission of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and death!" Her voice is so high it's almost incomprehensible.

As if on cue, Haymitch staggers into the room. Slurring so badly that he's worse than Effie, he says, "I missssssupper?" Then he vomits all over the floor, trips, and falls in it, making a horrible squelching sound.

"So laugh away!" Effie screeches, bounding over the vomit in her stilettos.

Katniss and I just watch Haymitch rising out of the vomit like some twisted water demon. For once, I agree with Effie. But I don't think it was wrong of me to laugh. Once Haymitch is out of the slime, I exchange a glance with Katniss. Haymitch wipes his face, successfully soiling it more, and slurs, "I tripped? Smells bad." Katniss and haul Haymitch all the way up. "Let's get you back to your room," I say soothingly.

We pull Haymitch back to his room and set him in the bathtub, which is about eight feet long. He slides to the bottom, and I turn the water on him. Katniss is hovering, unsure what to do. "It's okay," I say. "I'll take it from here." She looks so relieved, but guilty. "All right," she says. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

I don't like them, though. Creeps me out, especially the way they can't speak. I heard Effie Trinket say it's because there tongues are cut off or something.

"No. I don't want them." I say. She nods, and departs.

The bathtub is about three inches deep, due to its size, with warm water now. I turn the tap on his chest as well, to speed up the process. Haymitch is asleep by now. I prop his head up with some pillows, because the last thing I want is my mentor drowning.

Meanwhile, I dig in the cupboard under the sink. I find deluxe toilet tissue, some very string cleaning spray, and at last! The two things I am looking for. Vomit powder, which soaks up the vomit smell, and thick rubber gloves. I close the sterile cabinets and retreat back to the tub. The water is now a foot deep, which I decide will be decent for my task. Putting on the rubber gloves, I strip off Haymitch's clothes, except his underwear, because I don't think Haymitch would appreciate it. I might have to take it off later, but I put that out of my mind.

I mix in vomit powder with the shampoo, then pour more than a generous serving over him. Then I gently begin to wash him.

It takes about half an hour before all of him is clean. Well, all except his underwear. It didn't get soiled, but I realize I'll have to take it off, because it's so wet. I brace myself, shut my eyes-

-and an idea pops into my head. I put out clean pajamas and underwear for him, which he probably won't use, and try to shake him awake. He turns, and snores. I think for a moment, then take a pillow and hit him with it. He snorts, mumbles in his sleep, and splashes me. Gross. I pull the drain for the vomit water.

Since nothing else has worked, I turn the water icy cold, put it on full blast, and put it on Haymitch. He screeches, waking up immediately, karate chopping everything he can reach. I walk out and close the door. Watching Haymitch year after year onstage lets me know there's no way to reason with him when he's drunk. He'll either figure out how to get into bed, or a Capitol attendant can find him.

I drag myself back to my quarters and strip off my clothes, getting into bed. Probably the drawers or closet has pajamas, but I'm too cold and tired to care. Exhaustion hits me like a wave, and I fall asleep before I can pull the covers all the way up.

Gale

I come to, drool spattered over my face crustily. Groaning and swearing like a fiend, I get up. I've lost my will to everything and anything today. Katniss is gone, and so is my will to do simple tasks. Technically, there's school today, but no one will blame me if I cut. But hunger is persistent as ever, and there'll be no food unless I hunt it down. I glance outside. It's still dark, but I can see the first rays of sunlight just brushing the horizon. It'll be well up in two hours.

I don't have time for any sort of bathing, there's too much to do, between supporting Katniss's family and mine. I just wipe my face with a damp cloth and grab a stale loaf of bread from the back of the pantry. It's supposed to be for emergencies, but as far as I'm concerned, this is an emergency.

I jog out of the house and down through the quiet, dark streets, down into the meadow, and under the fence. I don't break pace until I reach a freshwater stream. Panting slightly, I kneel and take a drink. I feel a fish slither past my face, and jerk up, startled. If Katniss were here, she would laugh, and then I would too. Thinking it makes me miss her more. I don't even want to perform even the simplest of tasks, like standing up.

Suddenly something hits me. Katniss is _alive_. Of course I know this, but if I can convince myself that she's just on a gruesome vacation, that she might very well be back soon, and this is true, then I can get though this,

I jump up, charged, and sprint my snare route. I have support her family. And I want to. They were her last words to me- 'Don't let them starve!' And I will do whatever it takes to keep them alive- they're the last of Katniss, I have to preserve Prim and her mother.

An hour and a half later, I'm almost wheezing from having run so hard and so fast. I've got five rabbits and three squirrels, which is more than my usual haul, almost what we achieve together. It's enough. Plus, I can't run another step until I get some water and rest.

I slouch back to the stream. Since the snares are in a loop, it's only a quarter mile away. When I reach it, I submerge my whole face into it with a splash, not caring about the fish that slip by me. I drink until my wheezing stops, and then I stand, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. I've made good time, and if Katniss were here, she'd only have done it a few minutes faster with me.

I realize this is the first time I've thought her name without grimacing in mental pain. Sure, the pain is still there, but it's manageable. Because I know she wouldn't want to feel that terrible for her. So it's easier.

I quietly move in my special way to the fence. I pause for the telltale buzz. Nothing. I slither under the fence, toting my rabbits. Walking up and out of the meadow, I see the sun rising in a golden morning. It's beautiful, and no one's up to see it except me.

I reach the market. No one's up. Even the baker's is closed, and he's usually up well before sunrise. I don't blame them. Losing a son deserves a day off.

Unfortunately, not all of us have that pleasure.

The wind blows gently, stirring up leaves and coal dust. It almost feels like an abandoned town, with nobody here but me and the leaves. My footsteps almost echo in the emptiness. Although in about twenty minutes, everyone will be up and selling, which is why I came here.

The Hob looms ahead of me, blocking out the sunlight. Already I can hear the noises of the market, up early. To be a black market and thwart authority, you have to be up earlier than most.

The smell in the Hob is delicious- herbs, meat, soup, and the general smell of coal. You can't sell your goods in an abandoned coal warehouse in District Twelve without it smelling like coal. It's homey, and warm. It's my favorite smell in the world, after the woods and Katniss.

Something is wrong, though. As I walk past the shops and storefronts, people turn to face me. They stare at me sympathetically, lips moving in the sorrow I won't hear. For my loss of Katniss, and their loss too. It's little embarssing, actually. We are- I refuse to say were - some of the best costumers. But she's not dead yet. I won't give up.

Fortunatley, Greasy Sae waves me over. "Oy! Gale!" It's relieving to see a happy face. "Got any meat for me?" I nod, giving her a genuine grin. She brightens, presumably because she's seeing I'm not a mopey mess like I was this morning.

"I have a few squirrels and a rabbit I'm willing to trade." She nods. "The usual?" She gives us the herbs the woods won't provide. But I want Prim and her mother to have a nice dinner. Seeing how bad Katniss's mother was after her husband died, she'll probably be in no state to cook. Maybe she's learned her lesson, though. Katniss resents her for spacing out for those months. I don't blame her. My mother did that, but she at least kept us alive, as the head of the family. "Some chives as well," I say to Greasy Sae. She nods, seeming unsurprised. She always seems to know our motives, wether it's having a haul of squirrels for mittens, or just buying chives for a slightly nicer dinner.

I hand her the squirrels, and she slides the chives across the table. I nod at her, and turn to leave, but her manhles hand stops my shoulder. I don't turn back around, and wait for her to explain. "Most would not be so strong, with their loved one going that way. You are strong." she says quietly. I can tell from her voice that she misses Ktniss, even if she only sees her for trades. Yanking me out of my thoughts, she lets go of my shoulder and gives me a little shove.

I stumble forward, then catch myself and start walking out of the Hob the direction of Katniss's house. The sun is well up now, and the market I walk back through is lively. I stop at the various stands, saying hello, thank you, goodbye. Every person I pass has that horrible look of sympathy in their eyes. _I don't need your sympathy,_ I want to scream. _I've gotten enough of that already!_ But I can't. There are certain lines that you can't cross. It's part of being a human.

The marketplace fades into a small dot behind me. Prim and her mother are going to need me right now. As I walk, I sort the food into two piles. One for the Everdeens, one for our family. The Everdeens' is considerably bigger, because they can barely fend for themselves without Katniss. She's the head of their small family. As I am of mine, along with my mother.

I reach their house and knock. Katniss says I can let myself in, but I don't unless it's an emergency. Family time and privacy matters.

It's a long time before someone opens the door. It's Prim and Katniss's mother. I'm instantly relieved. She can't have left again if she's answer-

Her face cuts my thought off short. She's worse than I imagined. Bags are under her eyes, so deep purple thwy look like bruises. Her face is puffy and red from crying, her joints weak from hunger and exhaustion. She hasn't left, no, but it might have been better if she did. The struggle for not receding into mental blackness has taken its toll on her.

"Gale," she says, her voice cracking with strain. "If I'd known you were coming, I'dve-"

I move past her and shut the door. "You need rest," I say firmly. "Get some sleep, I'll take care of you and Prim." Relief floods her face, at not having to bear all this pressure on her shoulders. She nods dutifully and walks to the bedroom.

I haven't seen Prim. I follow behind into the bedroom, and see a lump curled up in her mother's blankets. Prim. She's not asleep, I can tell from her erratic breathing. I cross to the bed she and Katniss usually sleep in and strip it of its sweet smelling blankets. "Prim," I call softly. If I touched her without warning in this state, she'd probably scream. It would feel like people coming to snatch her like they snatched her sister.

Prim's breathing calms somewhat. "Primrose Everdeen, I am here to help. You both need care," I say, referring to her mother. Prim doesn't move, but sags somewhat, less tense. I scoop her curled figure into the blankets I'm holding. Every time I pick her up, it scares me how light she is. Even lighter now, she seems. Barely sixty pounds is my estimate. She needs food.

With one hand, I motion for Prim's mother to get in bed, who has been waiting on the sidelines. She mouths "Thank you" and gets into bed, falling asleep quickly.

She probably hasn't had a wunk of sleep since Katniss's departure. With me watching over her, I hope she feels more at ease. She still has a protector. Everyone needs one, even at her age.

I bring Prim into the kitchen and set her by the fireplace to warm up. Then I roll up my sleeves.

I'm not much of a cook, but I can cook decently. Better than Katniss at least, which truthfully isn't saying much. But I can scrape up something good for today.

I skin the rabbits, leaving a pile of soft fur coats. After three of them are skinned and ready for cooking, I light the stove. Rummaging in the cupboards for salt, I find some and add it to the rabbit. Then I sprinkle on some chives.

The stove is hot. I hesistate. This is the difficult part. The _cooking_ part. I can never decide, and when I do, I decide wrong and mess it up.

"Sear them." Prims voice, croaky and quiet, comes from the fireplace. I turn. She's sitting up, groggy. She looks almost as bad as her mother. "Can you sear them, Gale?" Her voice cracks when she says my name. I smile and nod, glad she's up, and put the rabbits on a pan, Suddenly her face crumples, and she bursts into tears.

"I'm sorry!" she wails. I'm petrified, frozen to the spot. _Words. Words, words, wor-_ "What for?" I burst. Tears stream down her face.

"Of course it's not your fault Katniss went in the games! How could I blame you of all people, you saved my life by doing that. You have multiple times, now too. We would never survive without you." She runs into my arms. But she's being ridiculous. I was the one who yelled at her.

"Prim, it was me who yelled at you. As for saving your life, that was Katniss's doing. And now? What would I have done, let you starve?" I smile, and hoist her on my hip.

She gives a watery laugh and buries her face in my shoulder. She hugs me.

"Your rabbit is burning," she mumbles.

I drop Prim, cursing. "No no no, my rabbit," I pretend to be in great pain. "It's ruined!"

I slide the rabbit out of the pan with a spatula. It's actually not bad, just a luttle overcooked. Prim caught it just in time.

She laughs, a real one this time. "You should be the cook, not me," I say, rubbing her head. "You wouldn't burn the rabbits."


	6. Chapter 6: Wine and Geese

Hi! I only have half a chapter today because it's so long, really tryna get to the games here, and I figured you guys had waited long enough. Today we have come shout outs- francesophia20, Desisut, 27, allison224. Jewel, SookieandSam, and Guest. Thanks to all of you for following/ favoriting/ commenting. Not much else to say here.

Okay! Update, I finished the Gale side, FINALLY, but I'm just going to delete and repost this chapter. Also: please give me ideas for Katniss's mothers name please. Nothing I can think of does her justice.

-toucantrebleclef

* * *

Chapter Six

Peeta

I wake up. It's still and silent, and I suppose that means that it's early, because the Capitol doesn't know how to be quiet. Or how to be get up early like a baker, apparently.

I don't think they'd allow me to frost a cake here, but maybe I can still use frosting.

I get out of bed and cross to the tiny storefront. There's a menu's in dim green lighting, but that's not what I'm looking for. There's no door to behind the counter. Well, I guess I'll have to do it the hard way,

I swing my leg over the counter and grunt as I slide face-first toward the ground on the other side. Well. At least there was no one here to witness my fail. The fall has placed my dangling face in front of the counter cabinets, and through the glass paneling I can see flour and some strange grainy yellow powder which doesn't seem to be sugar. Suddenly it's morphing, turning into my father. I stare, transfixed. The image wavers like a ghost. _"You were my favorite son,"_ he-it- says.

The word echoes in my head. _Were..were.._ Then my father turns into my mother. " _She's a survivor, that one,_ " Mother says. Then it's Jolian and Daymen. _"We both know you don't have a sporting chance is these games,"_ they say.

They never believed in me. They think I'm going to die. I can't! I'll prove them wrong! But if I prove them wrong, and live, Katniss will die. That can't happen.

Something in happening to my vision, though. It's wavering, my eyes giving way to a haze of light. The carpeted floor leaks away, and I fall, fall-

-into consciousness. I sit up, in my bed, sweating and panting. It was all a dream. Thank-

Before I can finish the thought, I have a revelation. There was truth to my dream, they don't believe in me. And they're right. I don't think I could ever end someone's life, put them in the dark forever. If I can't kill, I can't win. At the end of every Games, there's always a bloody battle, one which I wouldn't last through. So Katniss must win. She needs to. I will make sure of it, my dying promise: I need to bring Katniss home.

I'm so engrossed in my thoughts that I don't even realize how light it is. So I really shouldn't jump out of bed in fright when there's a loud knock at my door. From my position on the floor, I hear what only must be Effie Trinket's voice say, "It's going to be a big, big, big day! Get up, up, up!" She sounds like a broken record, and I hope she knows it.

I drag myself out of bed, and steering clear from the mini storefront, I rummage through the drawers. I've never been a one for fashion, so I keep it simple. Dark blue pants which are tough, made of a material I recognize but can't name, and an orange shirt. I'm very slightly colorblind, and yellows appear to me more reddish to me. So I guess the shirt is actually yellow. It doesn't matter. The prep team will strip me like a molting bird.

The dining hall was tasty yesterday, and I assume it will be just as good today.

I enter the dining hall. There's a long table on the edge of the wall, covered in food of strange, lucious colors. I look to the man who is standing by the table. "Can we serve ourselves?" He nods, silent.

Haymitch is already seated there. Judging by his expression, he remembers nothing from the previous night. Good. That would be a repeated nightmare.

I place my plate down next to cup of something I've never seen. "Hot chocolate," Haymitch says. I jump, and Haymitch chuckles. "It's good, you'll like it," I'm not sure whether or not to trust his judgement, since the only thing he drinks is alcohol, but I go out on a limb and sip carefully. He's right. It's delicious.

Haymitch stares at me, squinting. I shift in my seat, that stare is making me uncomfortable. Finally he stops analyzing me and goes back to his food. I relax. What was that about? But I can sense he has something to say, so I stay silent and take a roll.

"So, Katniss, is it?" he says. "She the one?"

I nearly drop the roll. What? How does he know? My heart starts pounding, have I really been that obvious? Haymitch isn't that observant, he never notices anything.

Haymitch laughs again at my expression. "Anyone could tell, the way you look at her, it's like she's an angel and you're stuck in the depths of hell," he says. My face heats up to match the color of Haymitch's wine, my fears are confirmed. She'll notice, and that would be the end of that for everything. She clearly has a thing for Gale, I'm just the sad bystander.

Haymitch is still chuckling when Katniss and Effie walk in. My face has faded somewhat, but I'm sure she notices. I try to act nonchalant when she sits down, and calm and not like I'm 'stuck in the depths of hell' as Haymitch so delicately put it.

I think I do pretty well, because throughout the meal I get no side eyes, except from Haymitch, which is to be expected. The meal is mostly silent, and toward the end Effie excuses herself to go "organize the day". Haymitch is progressively getting drunker, and Katniss's face keeps getting more disgusted. I know she's reached her limit when she says, "So, you're supposed to give us advice,"

Haymitch gurgles drunkenly. "Here's some advice: stay alive."

My temper rises like boiling water. He's already embarrassed me, and now he's mocking Katniss?

"That's very funny," I say. Then I sweep Haymitch's glass off the table. "Only not to us."

Haymitch does that funny squinting thing again. Then he punches me in the jaw, hard. I stagger back. He's supposed to be helping me! I can feel the wound pulsing in my jaw. Growing up in a bakery with my mother in District 12 makes me not feel much about this punch, but the message is clear. Katniss throws the knife into the table, barely missing his hand, which is much more impressive than my stupid remark. We both arrange ourselves into fighting stance but Haymitch stops, and squints.

"Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" he says, squinting harder. I try to put ice on my bruise, but he stops me, mentioning that the audience will think I'm rebellious for it. He turns to Katniss. "Can you hit anything else with that knife?" She throws the knife across the room, and it launches into the wall perfectly.

"Stand here. Both of you," Haymitch commands, examining us. He makes a comment about how we'll have a shot once the stylists get hold of us. True enough, I suppose. The better the stylist, the more attention the tribute gets. Attention that could be the difference from life and death.

Haymitch sits heavily. "Alright, I'll make you a deal. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you- but you have to do exactly as I say."

I can tell Katniss doesn't like it, but without him we will certainly die.

"Fine," I say.

Katniss grasps at a straw. "So help us," she says. "When we get to the arena, whats, the best strategy-" Haymitch cuts her off. "One thing at a time. In a minute, you'll be whisked off to the stylists when the train arrives." Katniss starts to protest, but Haymitch remains firm. Gathering the bottles, he leaves the car, kicking the door shut behind him.

Katniss and I stand in the dark, waiting to arrive. Suddenly we are thrown out of whatever dark tunnel we were in and light floods the car. I rush to the window. The Capitol. It's beautiful in a horrible sort of way, shining like a fresh burn.

I know that this is the beginning of an era, and all I can do is look up and wave.

My prep team circles my naked body. I don't mind, never have. Everyone's body looks the same, limited to two types. They've seen this before

"I think we're ready to give you to Portia," Jalent squeaks. He's such an innocent soul, he doesn't realize how horrible the games are.

They soaked me in strange things, and treated my chest and jaw with something that made all the stubble fall off. Something about the sting of that acid makes me think I'm never getting it back.

"Go on, go on," Flanie squawks, flapping at me. Her blue limbs and yellow hair make her look like a strange doll.

I let myself be ushered into a white room where a woman- Portia, I assume - waits.

She's plain, but pretty, with pale skin and dark red hair which appears to natural. He most striking feature is a simple floral pattern in black on the left side of her face. She's slender as a bamboo pole.

Her gaze turns to meet mine. "Peeta," she says calmly. I try to smile. "I'm your stylist," she says. "After a quick meal, I'll introduce you to your getup, alright?"

"Of course, let's get to it." She smiles warmly. I like Portia's approach, simple, to the point, but not rude as Haymitch is.

Time seems to be moving in short bursts. After a meal at light speed, Portia shows and tells me about my fiery outfit, which involves me being _set on fire_ with fake flames, and now suddenly I'm about to board my chariot with Katniss.

She leans in. "What do you think?" she says. "About the fire?" Her breath is tickling my cheek.

I've dealt with fire my whole life. If someone had come up with fire like that, it would already be in bakeries- displays, placeholder heating arrangements, and a number of marketplaces would sell it. There is no such thing as fake flames.

I meet Katniss's concerned glare with my own. "I'll rip off your cape if you rip off mine," I say through gritted teeth. Katniss's glare hardens. "Deal," she says. "I know we told Haymitch we'd do whatever they say, but I don't think he considered this angle." True, I think this counts as a valid disobeyal. Being reprimanded by a mentor is better than being barbecued. Speaking of which; "Where is Haymitch? Isn't he supposed to be protecting us from this sort of thing?" I say.

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame," says Katniss.

I snort, and then we both begin to laugh. Maybe we really can be friends. Maybe-

But no, no, I have to concentrate, because the music is playing, and we have to get on our chariot and smile and wave. Cinna, Katniss's stylist, gets up on the horse pulling the chariot, and lights our outfits before I can brace myself.

I hear Katniss gasp. There's no heat! I guess they were right. Cinna touches Katniss's face and says something I can't hear, but she puts on a winning smile,so I do the same. Cinna jumps off, then turns around, hollering at us. It's really loud, but I think he wants us to hold hands. I grab her right hand, and a tingle goes through me. It's all I can do not to shiver.

Then we're coming into the crowd and it's all a blur, and I can't see anything I'm so nervous, and I can hear the crowd screaming with appreciation as they see our outfits. Then it's over, the great lump of time whirring by. Our chariot stops in front of President Snow's mansion. There's something not quite right about him, the way he moves, and talks. Like he's constantly plotting our demises, which I guess he is. It gives me goosebumps.

"Welcome to the Capitol!" the president booms. The crowd goes wild. Once they have calmed down, the president says, "And our tributes! From District One, Glimmer and Marvel!" The camera pans to them with their bejeweled clothing. "District Two…."

I can see that when the president gets to us, they give us more time in the spotlight because of our getups. At least we'll be memorable.

"These are your quarters," Effie says brightly.

The door swings open to reveal a vast room to out the one on the train to shame. It's more like the ancient cathedrals we learned about in school than a room. It'salmost too lavish to look at.

Effie gives me a gentle shove and pushes me in, closing the door behind me. I'm stilk in shock, but I know we'll be eating dinner soon, so I walk over to the shower.

There's a huge panel, the bathroom alone is the size of the bakery, and the shower- well, the shower is big enough for me to lie down and stretch out in. And I'm almost six feet.

I program the massive shower, and for ten minutes, I just have some fun. There's the purple goo that doused me head to foot, and left my skin a shade lighter. The fluff which seemingly avoided the water, which made me smell oddy like ducks. And my favorite, the bubbles that floated around me, going up my nose, and infecting my nasal cavities. I can now smell nothing but the faint scent of lime.

Eventually, though, I clean up my makeup off and dress in a red shirt and half length pants, and weave the miles of clothing in the closet together on the floor of it to make a massive mural of Katniss until Effie bangs on my door, telling me it's time to eat.

The meak is mostly uneventful. The food here is even more lavish than in the train, but there's a certain plasticity about it. Like it's been dipped in transparent paint and set to dry. Katniss and Effie sip their wine, and Haymitch gulps it. I even try a taste, but it tastes like old, resiny grape juice, so I put it down. Cinna and Portia eat with us.

Cinna rubs his hands together. "In honor of your fiery debut, I've ordered a special cake." A woman with red hair comes in with a cake with mediocre detail. It becomes spectacular when she lights it, and the designs come alive in the dancing flame.

Katniss frowns. "What makes it burn?" she asks. "Alcohol? Because that's the last thing I- oh! I know you!" She's talking to the red-haired girl who lit the cake. The girl backs up, shaking her head furiously, then turns and speeds away.

"Don't be ridiculous, how could you know an Avox? The very thought," Effie says sharply.

"What's an Avox?" she asks. I was wondering the same thing myself.

Haymitch speaks. "Someone who committed a crime of some sort. They cut her tongue so she can't speak. A traitor, not likely you'd know her." Cinna and Portia are glaring at her, too. She needs help, so of course I bail her out. What else can I do?

"Delly Cartwright," I fabricate. They all look at me. I'm a good liar, fortunately. You had to be, growing up with my mother. "I kept thinking she looked familiar as well, that's when I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly," I say. That girl looks nothing like Delly, mistaking one for the other would be like mistaking me for Haymitch.

Katniss knows I'm lying. But she takes it. "Yes, that must be who I'm thinking of," she says. "It must of been the hair." To take it all the way, I say, "Something about the eyes, too."

Everyone calms. "Oh well, if that's who you were thinking of," says Cinna. "And yes, the cake had spirits, but they burned away." Covered up, that error. Just like the Capitol.

We eat the cake and watch the recap of our stunning costumes and the parade. We look incredible, and no one else can even hold a candle to us.

Haymitch predictably squints. "Who's idea was the hand holding?" he asks.

"Cinna's," Portia says simply.

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. "Very nice. Just the perfect touch of rebellion." he says.

Is he drunk already? Maybe not all the spirits burned off the cake.

"Tomorrow is your first training session. Meet me for breakfast tomorrow and I'll tell you how to play it," he says. "Now go get some sleep while the grownups talk," he says with a shooing motion.

* * *

Gale

I have to go back to school. It's my last year before the coal mines. I want to savor it, and I need all the instruction I can, to stay alive when my father didn't.

So after the day with Prim, I'd dragged myself back to my home to clean up my life. Simple things, like making the bed, giving my mother meat to skin, arranging my school materials. Just to show people that steady, unfaltering Gale is still here. I just missed a step. But I'll be okay.

I get my shit together and start the walk to school. It's short, nothing to compare anything that we did-will do- in the woods. Well, walking, at least.

The leaves crunch under my feet. I walk with my head down, so I don't have to deal with more looks. I'm fine.

I make my way to the school and without looking, I can feel glares and looks.

Feet patter up to me. "Gale," it says. I look up. Madge is there, looking at me with giant deer eyes. "If you need me, I'm here for you." She scurries away before I can collect my wits to glare at her.

Of course. With Katniss gone, she thinks she has a shot with me. She never will. I kissed her once. Some might call it an accident, but I prefer to think of it as a moment of weakness. Just needing someone to lean on, and without Katniss, I unintentionally used Madge.

The school day passes in a blur of covert looks, not-so-concealed whisperes and side glances. I just give everyone a surly look, trying to be above it all. I'm not sure how well it worked, though. I wasn't paying to anything but having a rock hard façade, but I know for a fact there were a couple voice cracks. I just don't know if anyone heard them.

As soon as the final bell rings, I'm up and out of my seat, gone before anyone can stand up. I head straight to the Everdeen's. Prim was at school today, and she looked okay. But I looked okay, and I'm only partly okay.

I see Prim walking back home, alone, head down. "Prim!" I call. She turns, brightening. I speed over to her and walk beside her.

"All right?" I ask. Prim smiles feebly and nods. Her eye is twitching suspiciously

I raise my eyebrows. "Really, are you?" She nods more fiercely. "Your eye always twitches when you lie," I inform her.

She abandons her casual face, reverting to worried sadness. "Oh, where is she? Is she okay? What if she's dead, oh Gale," she wails. She doesn't need to mention who she's thinking of.

I grab Him by the shoulders. "Prim," I say sternly. "Katniss isn't even in the arena yet. We're going to see her tomorrow evening, when she shows for the costume. She's fine." Prim nods, but I can tell she doesn't completely believe me. I don't completely believe me either.

I tilt my face to the heavens. I know you can't hear me, Katniss, but please, please, I say in my head, please don't do anything rash. No trying to escape or- or snapping at the guards, please Katniss, do it for me.

Prim and I get to her house, where her mother is waiting. 'Hello, Gale," she says. I can tell she likes the idea of me coming over everyday to check on them. She steps forward to hug me, but there's the crunching of paper. I look down, and there's a pristine white package with half a footprint labled 'Everdeen' in script writing. I pick it up, walking inside with Prim and her mother, who shuts the door behind us.

I turn over the package, to see there's a message on the back. The kitchen stool creaks as I sit down on it. The message reads:

Dear Mrs. Everdeen- and Mr. Hawthorne, because I know your'e there;

I promised I would take care of Prim, she needs it, and so do you. So every day I will put this on your doorstep. She deserves it. You all do, for being strong when I couldn't.

The Baker

I open the package's white paper wrap and find inside two-still warm- loaves of bread, and almost as if it's an afterthought, a cookie. I examine the cookie. It's a frog. I recognize the bulging eyes of it from a swamp Katniss and I visited. It's done in the wavery strokes of someone buried in grief. For being strong when I couldn't… I suppose that's what he meant. Although none of us are very strong.

I gently lift the bread and the cookie and bring them to Prim. She grins up at me appreciatively. Prim's mother raises her eyebrows. I hand her the wrapping. "Courtesy of the baker," I say. She turns it over and begins to read the back, a strange expression gracing her face.

"I'll be in the woods," I say, then depart. We all need food.

The woods remain calm, waiting for me with open arms. "Good to see you," I whisper.

I can feel the abundance of meat, waiting to be made into a meal. I trek through the woods, waiting for meat to appear.

HONK! HONK! HOOOOOONK!

The subtle whisper of geese makes me fall over in surprise. I quickly get up to shoot them. Without Katniss, I don't have to systemize.I quickly take down four of the seven geese, and run after their falling bodies. Three of the geese were killed by the arrow, but one is fluttering around, squawking. I quickly decapitate it, ending its misery.

Four geese! I can't believe it, I hardly ever get such luck. Usually Katniss and I are collectively able to take down three, and that's at the end of a long haul. I gather strawberries in a daze of happiness. I can trade one, and the feathers of the other two. The feathers are valuable and fine, but I will keep one intact one.

The geese swing from my belt as I duck under the fence, whistling. One of the geese, the one dedicated for trade, gets caught on the fence. I turn around, reaching for it-

-and the fence turns on, frying the goose and its feathers, making it into a black smoldering chunk of flesh.

It's the most terrifying thing I've ever seen. If I had been a couple seconds earlier, if the goose hadn't needed decapitation- I would have been dead. Fried. Blood boiling, electrocuted.

I drop the carcass and run, haunted, to the Hob. I can see the dead goose waving in the breeze in my periphery. I run and run and run, away from death, away from the fence, away into the marketplace and into the Hob, into the farthest, deepest hole behind Greasy Sae's. A few dusty boxes inhabit it.

I collect my wits there, stop acting up. It's just goose, I tell myself. Just a goose. I want to be comforted, but Katniss isn't here. I can feel the vacuum of where she was. I hunker down into a ball, trying to squeeze my emotions out of me.

Greasy Sae rounds the corner, box in hand. There's a split second where she's shocked to find me there, weak, and I'm shocked at her. Then she puts down the box and helps me up. She presses something in my hand and departs. I look down. It's a wooden spoon, engraved with the words 'Good food, good mood, good life." It's cheesy, but I like it. I slip the spoon into my pocket, brush the ashy remains of the goose from my belt, and move on.

I trade the feathers of two of the geese at the merchant's. He gives me a pile of money for them. They'll go to District Ten, to One, then to the Capitol, so they're worth something. I trade one goose with Rooba, who gives me a deal, especially with the sausage she throws in. "Goose is high demand at the moment," she says when I comment on it. Trading the few squirrels I got from my snares results in a small pile of cash and two loaves of bread. I did well today, so I do something I've never done before again: I buy the smallest, cheapest pastry from the baker. It's still expensive, but I would give anything to see a smile on Prim's face, one the baker is lacking.

I trek back to Katniss's house with the pastry in hand. I can't wait to see the joy on her face. When I reach her house, I let myself in.

"Prim? Prim, LOOK!" I can hear footsteps padding on soft wooden floor, and Prim bursts in, frantic.

"What's wrong?" I smile and hold up the package. "I got us a treat."

Prim immediately sits down at the table, and her small hands go to open that package, ripping open the smooth white paper. The buttery, flaky, pastry is lying there, glistening with sugar.

Prim squeals joyously, squeezing me. "But how did you afford it?" she breathes. I smile. "I shot some geese, and got enough money from them for a treat," I say. Prim rips both sides into haphazard halves, giving me the larger one. "You shot the geese, you get the bigger one," she says sternly when I open my mouth to object.

I know Prim too well to argue with her.

We eat the beautifully buttery pastry, and Prim saves some of hers for her mother. I try to savor mine, but it's almost gone. I decide to save the last bite for Posy.

Patting Prim on the head, I say, "I'll be back tomorrow night, to watch the...yeah," I say, not wanting to ruin Prim's mood with seeing Katniss, but it's almost too late.

Prim waves, impervious, and I leave her house for my own, leaving one goose behind for their dinners.

When I reach the quiet house, I hear some calls of "Gale's home!" and I smile as I push open the door. "I've got some geese for you all," I call to the kids. Of course, they're not really my kids, as Katniss said, but they couldn't survive without me. I've assumed the head of household, and it's too late to turn back.

I hand the plucked goose to Mother. "I shot f- three geese today," I say, quickly covering up my mistake. "I traded one." I don't need to tell her where the other is, she knows. Mother smiles. "You must have got quite a bit of money for that," she says with a laugh. I pull a small pile of coins and paper from my pockets. "This will buy- let's see, we need soap…" I leave my mother calculating our needs versus the money, and walk to the kitchen to do my homework, and to fill out my coal application.

This is the way the coal application works. When you turn eighteen, they make you go into the mines for coal. They shouldn't call it an application, because everyone has to do it, unless you are missing at least two limbs or are on death's door, therefore unable to do work. Anyway, everyone has to join, filling out an application when they're 17. You have to list your skill sets, from a multiple choice checkbox. They say things like, strength, good eyesight, mine disabling practice (this is District Twelve, if someone did they'd be prosecuted immediately for handling bombs) and we also have to check our weaknesses, and I'm having trouble.

What weaknesses do I have that could affect mine work? Or really, any at all? I'm not that weak, I'm only human. I guess I can lose my temper at times, but honestly, I'm not trying to be bigheaded when I say I don't think I have that many. I don't want to ask anyone, because-

Wait. The goose, this afternoon. That was weakness. I…. what IS it though? Not gore, I skin animals. Not electricity, that part didn't freak me out. Maybe...death. The death of my father was unspeakably terrible, but it would be for anyone. And I kill animals. Maybe killers. I hate the mines, now the fence, I suppose.

I scratch down dangerous machines with a pencil that has been used too many times. I fold the paper three times and set it on the dresser, I'll take it two weeks before my eighteenth birthday.

I go downstairs and start water for boiling the goose. I don't know how to cook goose, but my mother usually cooks birds in water, unless it's a holiday. I think I'll take a rest between now and dinner. My mind is peacefully empty….

* * *

Hope you liked that one! Open for ideas anytime.


	7. Chapter 7: Madge and Sunsets

I am SO SORRY that it's been so long. I do have some decent excuses though:

-It was my birthday recently, so...yay...

-I realized/embraced my sexual orientation...that was a little surreal

-The Gale chapter I had to rewrite several times, and you'll see why in a bit. I'll put an authors note at the end too,

-As some of you have probabky noticed, the quotes ate very accurate to the book(varying slightly bevause of how they were percieved) and I lost it for a week. Crap.

Also, the story timelines don't completely match up, and I'm sorry, I'll fix that next Chapter, and Peetas' is far longer. It's not the best, I'm not super proud, but I made some events which will majorly impact the story

Peeta is a very...expressive character, and this is shown here. Gale is also sort of a dick (after the many rewrites, he is less so) but in my opinion, it's a part of his personality.

Ok! You can read now!

-toucantrebleclef

* * *

Chapter Seven

Peeta

I'm curious. I won't deny it, that Avox in the dining hall looked nothing like Delly. And if I cover for her, I'd like an explanation.

So when Katniss makes to go into her room, I stand in front if her. "So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here." She knows what I'm asking, and I can tell she wants to tell me, she's not that hard to read. But I can see the gears turning in her head, her hesistating. I can see why. You get the feeling that someone's always watching, always listening. Like someone's going to suddenly appear out of the blue and question us.

"Have you been on the roof yet?" I ask. It would seem like a change of subject to any Capitol attendant, but a tribute could read between the lines. Katniss frowns, shaking her head. "Cinna showed me. You can see the whole city, the wind's a bit loud, though." Which is not entirely true. I heard Cinna discussing the roof with Effie. He said that he was sure tributes were allowed up there, but Effie went to check the rules. When she was gone, I asked Cinna about it. He told me it was beautiful, like a painting. You couldn't even jump off, because of the forcefield. "If you want to paint up there, make sure you bring some paperweights," he'd warned. "It's loud and windy up there." He even took me all the way into this giant glass dome, on the roof, in which you could see most of the roof, and a tiny patch of ground. The roof is so big, it's scary.

I watch it click in Katniss's face. "Can we just go up?" she asks, curious. "Sure, come on," I say, leading her through some passages and stairs, up into the dome.

Katniss pulls open a transparent door in the side of it, and we are greeted by a blast of wind that would scare me away if I didn't know the force field was there. I lean into the wind, walking to the edge of the roof.

It's the most breathtaking thing I've ever seen. You can see huge architectal sights from the roof, and then a layer of people, too far away to tell how grotesque they are. A strip of brilliantly grapefruit-colored sky- we sometimes used them as frosting flavoring in the bakery- sits under a pthalo blue blur. A color I once in a shop. An enourmous buttery moon, almost full, sheds brilliant light over the crimson, candy-colored Capitol.

"I asked Cinna why they let us up here," I say, in an attempt to both get my head out of the view, and to talk with Katniss. Clamming up won't help me now. "Weren't they afraid that some of the tributes would jump off?"

"What'd he say?" she asks.

I take a breath. "You can't," I hold my hand into the void over the edge of the roof. An electric shock rattles my brains, and I involuntarily jerk back my hand back. It reminds me of the time I once touched the shock collar that someone the rich, rich merchants use for their livestock. "Some kind of electric field throws you back on the roof," I say, rubbing my arm.

"Always worried about our safety," Katniss says, dripping sarcasm. Wind chimes in the background blare as a wind picks up, blowing Katniss's hair across her face. I'll draw that later if I can. She's...incredibly beautiful. "Do you think they're watching us now?" I hope not. I want to be the only one to see her like this. "Maybe," I admit. An idea sparks. "Come see the garden," I say.

My plan is succeeding. When we reach the garden, the wind chimes are so loud they block out conversation. I wait for Katniss to explain the Avox who is not Delly Cartwright. It's why we came up here. She pretends to examine a hydrangea. "We were hunting in the woods one day. Hidden waiting, for game," she whispers. A sudded quiet has fallen in her demeanor. "You and your father?" I whisper back, intrigued. She shakes her head. "No, me and my friend Gale." I tense. So this is a Gale story. "All the birds stopped singing. Except one. Like a warning call. And then...we saw her. The same girl. Running with a boy." She paints a picture in my head. Katniss, hidden in a tree, Gale behind her, frozen, watching this girl. "Their clothes were tattered, their eyes dark circles with no sleep, they were running as if their lives depended on it.

I can see this in my mind's eye so clearly it's almost a memory. The girl and boy, warm breath fogging the air, sprinting as if chased. My imagination milks her words, I can feel not terror, but dread, a haunting emptiness to her voice.

"The hovercraft appeared out of nowhere," Katniss continues, whispering. "I mean, the sky was empty and it was there the next moment. It didn't make a sound. A net dropped around the girl, and carried her up fast, so fast, like flying."

I imagine the coarse ropes tightening around the girl like she's a fish in a net, burning woven paths into her skin.

"They shot some sort of spear through the boy, it was attached to a cable when they hauled him up. I'm certain he was dead. We heard the girl scream once, the boy's name, I think…"

An echoing scream of pain that isn't mine resounds in my head. I can feel what the anguish on her face must have been like...so close, but so far…

"Then it was gone, the hovercraft. Vanished into thin air. And the birds began to sing again, as if nothing had happened."

I digest this. "Did they see you?" I ask quietly.

"I.. don't know. We were under a shelf of rock." Katniss says, turning away. Easy to read. That isn't the whole truth, but I don't prod. Everyone has a reason.

Katniss curls in on herself slightly, shaking. She's not crying, she's not like that, but that story must be like vomit- acidic and painful, but better once you get it out.

"You're shivering," I say. I don't think she'd trust me enough to hold her, but I take off my jacket, exposing a light sweater. I wrap it around her shoulders. She lets me put it on. I start to button the buttons.

"They were from here?" I ask. You can usually tell. The perfect shape, rounded face, showing no signs of hunger, ever. There's also something in their eyes. Equal amounts of innocence and righteousness. The kids don't always know what they're doing. I might just be being stupid, though.

Katniss nods. If they were running through the woods, though..

"Where do you suppose they were going?" I ask, finishing the last button, and letting my hand trace down the coat.

"I don't know," she says, whispering slightly. "Or where they were going."

If I was a Capitol kid, I would despise it here. I wouldn't, couldn't let myself get trapped in the despicable orginaztion of the Capitol.

"I'd leave here," I blurt. Loudly. Loud enough for anyone who wanted to hear me to hear me. I quickly backtrack. Laughing, I say, "I'd go home now if they would let me. But you have to admit, the food's prime," There. Covered. Katniss doesn't even have seemed to notice.

The next ten minutes are just banter about the past, about District Twelve. There's something in her voice, but I think nothing of it. Socializing with her is enough, as I walk back to my room, she hands me my jacket and bids me good night.

I lay in bed, wondering about the girl. I'l never see her the same way, that's for sure. The Capitol just doles out relentless pain. It's truly horrible, and it's the last thing I think about before I sleep.

I wake up early, feeling sticky. Today we go to the Training Center, meet the tributes. I haven't decided on an exact strategy, but I have at least got something, which I mull over in the shower.

I've decided to team up with the Careers, Districts 1, 2 and 4. They'll kill me eventually, but it will keep Katniss alive for longer, because maybe I can get her to join the Career pack. That's my main plan, at least. Depends how things blow over.

I accidentally press a button, and thick pink liquid squirts out of the showerhead.

When it touches me, it burns off some of my body hair, causing me to jump out of the shower onto the drying mat, which immediately dries me.

I dress quickly, there's an outfit in the closet. Closing the door behind the pink goo, I start off to the dining hall. "Whoa there," says a snarky voice, not yet addled by drink.

It's Haymitch, of course. "Got a plan for the alliances?" he asks. I nod, not really in the mood to talk. But Haymitch being Haymitch, he prods. "Have anything to do with Katniss?" he asks with a snigger. I whirl around and grab Haymitch by the scruff of his neck. I'm as tall as him.

"Look Haymitch, what I do is none of your business," I snarl. He's still smirking. "But if you must know, I don't plan on getting out of these games alive," The smirk drops from Haymitch's face, and he waits for me to go on.

"You were right," I say, letting go of his neck. He rubs it resentfully. "I do love Katniss, and although it looked like I was a fighter yesterday, I'm not. So I'll put my life to use."

Haymitch is silent. "I suppose if that's what you want, we can make it happen. She's quite a catch."

We walk in silence to the meal, and eat it quickly and uneventfully.

Haymitch leans back after his plate of rich Capitol stew, and starts to talk. "So, training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now."

Katniss frowns. "Why would you want to coach us separately?" she asks. I frankly agree. What?

"Say you had a skill you didn't want the other to know about," explains Haymitch.

Katniss and I exchange expressions. "Katniss, I already know that you're good with a knife." I say. No tactical advantages there.

Haymitch and Katniss briefly discuss the rest of the tactical advantages, and I give them some half-hearted answers which keep me covered. I'm nervous about the Training.

Suddenly they're talking about Katniss. I quickly tune in. I don't want to miss this.

"...But I can hunt," Katniss is saying. What did she say before? She was demoting her knife skills.

"And you're good?" Haymitch asks. To my surprise, Katniss has to think about it. She's relatively modest, but even the most modest would know the answer to this question. Katniss concludes this with, "I'm alright." I can't let this opportunity for her slip by. I've never seen her hunt, but-

"She's excellent," my mouth says. I let it continue. "My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how they always hit the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells at the butcher. She can even bring down deer." I finish my speech.

Katniss is suspicious. "What are you doing?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.

A tiny bit of anger, mixed with passion, causes me to speak. "What are _you_ doing? If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself."

Far from being appreciative, Katniss fires back at me. "What about you? I've seen you in the market, you can lift hundred-pound bags of flour. Tell him that, that's not nothing." I can see the fire in her eyes which inspired Cinna, inspires us all.

My inner cat hisses. "Yes, and I am _sure_ the arena will be full of hundred-pound bags of flour for me to chuck at people." I'm standing now, and Haymitch is watching us bicker with a mix of amusement and annoyance.

"He can wrestle, he came in second in the school champion last year, after his brother," she yells at Haymitch furiously. I remember that. I was so mad at Daymen for almost a day after. But I can't hold a grudge.

"What uses is that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death? I yell.

"There's always hand-to-hand combat! All you need is a knife, if I get jumped, I'm dead!"

The floodgates open, the words I've been holding back rush out, and it's all I can do to organize them.

"But you won't! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking people off one by one, and you know what my mother said to me before I left?"

My lungs hurt from the exertion of speaking, and the yellows look a bit redder. "She said maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. And then I realized she didn't mean me, she meant you!" I yell, face red.

Of course, Katniss brushes me off. "She meant you," she says.

I shake my head. "She said 'She's a survivor, that one.' _She_ is," I cry.

Katniss is silent, away in her head. A tear resides in my eye. That really hit home.

And then Katniss fixes my heart. "But only because someone helped me," she says quietly.

The day in the bakery. But I shrug it off. "People will be tripping over themselves to sponsor you," and then of course Katniss turns it around on me and says,

"Just as much as you."

I roll my eyes at Haymitch. "She has no idea, the effect she can have." He knows what I mean. I look at the table, and there's a long silence as Katniss digests my words, and the argument melts away into the floor. We walk to the Training center after a short, tasteless agreement to not show our best qualities. I'm still smarting from the argument.

* * *

Gale

Everyone has gathered in the square, ready to watch the tributes pass through on television. I missed the recap of them getting reaped, but I can see Katniss, and I want to know how she is.

The evening sky is darkening, so we can see everything on the huge glass screens. Suddenly, they all turn on, in sync. The Capitol seal is showing, the anthem playing, and we all stand up for it.

I look over the crowd for Prim and her mother. Scanning the crowd, there's nothing but grays and browns. Then I see a flash of blonde, then one more. Prim and her mother. I weave through the throng of people and touch them on the shoulder. Prim turns, and squeezes me tight. I exchange a brief look with her mother, worried expressions mirrored.

People around us are slapping me on the back, apologizing to her mother, and patting Prim. Words of sorrow for the things to come.

On the screen, the camera cuts to the circle where the tributes will be. District One comes out, meeting a roar of applause. 2,3,4,5,6,7- trees, of course-8,9,10,11, and-

A gasp of shock comes out of the crowd. Katniss and Peeta are….I don't know how to put it….dressed in flames, tongues of fire licking their faces, leaving them unscorched. And worse, so much worse, they are holding hands.

I leave, vanish out of the crowd, thinking only of them. Holding hands? They're out to kill each other, for fuck's sake. You can't present them as lovers, friends, whatever- to the crowd and then throw them in an arena like pigs to die. Surely the Capitol will have something to say about this. There's no way that the best part of this twisted show might go unmentioned. They'll warp this new development to their advantage.

I have not even noticed, but I'm in the woods now. I walk, deeper and deeper, and I climb a tree like Katniss would, and then I can't take it anymore.

I roar, like a lion. Birds trip over themselves to fly away, the thud of animals going every direction but towards me pounds the floor. A squirrel shoot by. I shoot it. Dead. Like President Snow should be. A rabbit. Decapitated by a knife, like Peeta will be. A turkey, life dripping out it, caught in a snare, like the Capitol will be.

I stop my mad rampage. It's dark, now. Collecting my weapons from the blood-slicked animals, I shiver. I can't believe how badly I lost control. I take the turkey and the rabbit. The squirrel is so mangled, it wouldn't feed Buttercup.

This is worrying. At only the beginning of the Games, I lost control so badly that I went on a killing spree. This was only animals. Who knows what could be next?

I need an outlet, someone to pour out my emotions. I'll go crazy otherwise. I begin to pace through the woods, crushing delicate leaves under my feet. Who could would be so willing, so _stupid,_ to get close to me? Except Katniss, whose curiosity conquered all, but even she had her doubts at first.

Then it hits me. Of course. Of COURSE. I crumple to the ground, putting my hands over my face. If I dip my feet, I know I'll go too deep. But it's my only option, and it's not a bad one, by most people's standards. Even by Katniss's standards. It might be lowly, but I will not accidentally hurt anything else.

So at school tomorrow, I let Prim go ahead, saying that I think she can start the meat from yesterday in the stove. That part makes me feel terrible, but if there's anyone I can't hurt because of this beast inside me, it's her. And Posy. Those flowers are too innocent, too wonderful to be victimized by me. The Capitol has already lashed out at Prim, I need to protect them both. Before I start, though, I take a swig of some elf wine I brought with me, as a treat. It'll help me open up.

After Prim is out of sight, I break into a run through the warm air. There she is.

"Madge," I breathe. Her blonde hair ripples slightly. Madge whips around. Conflicting emotions cross her face- anger, sadness, lust, and maybe….jealousy? But she's no idiot.

"Gale," she says shortly, turning back around. I expected this would be difficult.

I catch her shoulder and spin her back around. Crushing her against me, I pull myself to a wall and press her against me. "Come talk to me," I whisper. I can feel a shiver run down her spine.

Madge considers me, pale blue eyes split between mistrust and wanting. I'm so close. She's trapped. Only a tiny push-

"The woods- with me- now," I rumble. That's the turning point. Madge traipses behind me, an innocent deer.

We reach the woods. I offer her to go under the fence first. Madge hesitates, she's probably never done this before. Although Katniss mentioned she took Madge to the woods, maybe she just wants help.

I motion for her to lie down, and putting my hands on her waist, I push her through, her warm body catching on a barb. I reach to free it at the same time as she does, and our hands meet. My breathing quickens, and I push her through the fence before I do something stupid, like kiss her.

What's happening? Madge is a willing outlet for emotions, not a...I'm not supposed to…although I knew she might kiss me, I was willing to let that happen. I'm a man of actions; not words, but I don't...love her, it's Katniss.

I don't think I can stop this. In my gut, I equally want to get this over with and draw it out as long as possible.

I bring Madge to a tiny stream. "Can we sit there?" asks Madge. It's an outcropping of rock I've never noticed before, hanging over the stream. Katniss and i have never been there. Good. I don't want to...feel contaminated. The spots with Katniss are Katniss's and mine, and this one is Madge's and mine.

I hoist her up, propping her against a tree. Then I pull myself up next to her.

Madge asks, "What did you want to tell me?"

And suddenly mind goes blank. What did I call her here for? Why? My voice box isn't working. "I...came to ask…." I stutter. Madge tilts her head, a coy smile on her face. "I think I might have an idea," she says sultrily. I've never seen her acting so adventurous.

And then her mouth is on mine, and I kiss her right back, because I'm not stopping this, and then she's on top of me,and I'm kissing her, going down, down…

"Gale. Gale, the scores are about to be shown. GALE." I wake up. It's Vick. "C'mon Gaaaaale, let's goooooo," He tugs on my arm. It's darker than when I was in the woods with Madge, and I hardly remember what happened. But I know enough to remember the bumblings and fumblings, and the touching…..

"I'm coming, Vick. Just give me a second." I kiss his head, with lips that kissed Madge, and more than just her lips, and something starts aching at me.

Vick nods, and scurries away as I put myself back together.

I know I wanted to vent, and that worked, but something has replaced the all-consuming anger at Peeta-guilt. Guilt, gnawing away at me, lecturing at me, how could I be so unfaithful, how could I use Madge as an advantage, how could I be such an _arse?_

I shake my head. I can't afford to think about this right now. I need to see Katniss.

Standing, I walk to Vick, who tugs me to Mother. "I'm going to stay, I feel a bit under the weather, and the square is no place for Posy to be right now." I nod at her, throat stuck with glue. "Tell me what happens," she says, ushering the boys and me out her door. "Take care, love you," she says. I manage an "Mmph." .

Rory sprints ahead under the darkening sky, and I pick up Vick, putting him on my shoulders. He's getting a bit heavier now, at the age of ten, but he's still only fifty pounds, an easy weight. Vick points to the screens. "Look Gale, it's starting!" Sure enough, the screens have begun flashing district numbers. The first few are Careers, so naturally they have elevens and tens. The average of all the non-careers is about 6, a very weak group this year. At District Twelve, Peeta scores an 8, which is decently good, enough to have a sporting chance, and then there's Katniss.

Eleven? My girl scored an eleven! I can't believe it! Vick cheers, and all of District Twelve is whooping, and my grin is ear to ear. "Oh Katniss," I whisper. "There's room for improvement there." And then I squeeze Rory into a tight hug, and he folds his arms around my chest. I see Prim barreling toward me. "Gale!" she yells, hugging me, hugging Rory. When Prim hugs him, I see his cheeks heat up, and he goes stock still. I grin inwardly. We can never get enough of these Everdeens. No one can.

A/N: So how,d you like the Gale scene? It was more "M" before(I think I was sleep deprived) but let me know how I did. It's not like Madge, I didn't realize that til later, but let's call her "adventurous." As always, review plz! :D 3 all of you!


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